D was for Detriment
by I've-Gotta-Be-Me
Summary: They stood, dripping from head to toe with sweat, anger radiating from their very cores as they studied one another. One could say they were searching for weak spots, coming up with a strategy on how to best take down their opponent. They lunged forward.


Blaine was giving a punching bag a particularly brutal, undeserved beating. Not because he had any personal qualms with said bag, but because he was pissed.

Pissed because he was failing two of his classes even with extra tutoring. Irritated because it was nine at night and he hadn't eaten dinner yet because the dining hall had closed early. He was furious because his father hadn't spoken to him in a week, leaving his messages unanswered. Livid because he was receiving snide looks in the hallways between class.

And these weren't just any looks; they weren't sneers pertaining to his sexual preference, but scornful glares from contenders he'd failed to beat the living shit out of.

Yet.

This bag would have to substitute for them; for those boys and for all the little irritating moments in his day that had led up to this point. It was getting more and more difficult to hide behind the façade of the perfect gentleman; polite to all his peers and full of charm and wit. Underneath it all, he was angry all the time and he had to harness it until he got to the gym. He had to save it until he got a fight set up.

None of the staff were wise to the underground society going on right under their noses. Sometimes he had bandages on his knuckles and a teacher would comment on them and he'd brush it off by attributing it to a particularly trying Warblers practice. This excuse was always accepted without further questioning. Either they didn't know or they knew and didn't want to know.

There was a complex underbelly growing with each passing day in Dalton's halls. Groups changed day by day - always shifting, always compensating for winners and exiling losers. Rivalries were slowly starting to form along with alliances, teams, people willing to put their tuition money on the line for a bet on a promising fighter. It was an entire society made up of silent understanding. No one ever mentioned it aloud, but the word was out and it was getting dangerous.

Where was Blaine? He was somewhere in the middle of all this. He was the founder, yet as a fighter he fell somewhere in the middle. He showed potential, but he didn't win all of his fights. Sometimes he collapsed onto his bed out of sheer exhaustion, either from training or from a particularly trying fight. He knew he could do better than this. He needed to do better than this.

There was nothing but the comforting sound of his fists hitting the punching bag with loud thwacks. It swung back and forth with the intensity of his blows. He spun on his heel, spotting carefully – putting that Warbler practice to good use – before finding his target again and jabbing it with all his might. God, it felt good to just _hit _something.

He heard footsteps approaching and he stilled his bag, grabbing it around the middle and taking cover behind it.

There was a banging as the gym doors flew open, hitting the walls beside them before slamming back into their original position. Blaine flicked a few damp curls out of his eyes and bounced back on his heels as he assessed the intrusion. Was it a friend or foe? Or both?

He hadn't even noticed that he'd forgotten to tape his knuckles today until he looked down at his cracked skin. They were beaten raw, the already warn skin breaking apart for the umpeenth time. Blood trickled down into his palms, staining the lines of his hands; he hastily hid the fact by putting them in his pockets.

The newcomer hadn't even seen him. From his angle, he could see it was a very throttled Kurt Hummel. The other boy wasn't wearing a shirt and his pale skin was already flush with color as he began attacking a nearby practice dummy. He was letting out inarticulate yells every other attack.

Blaine was panting, but the sound was lost with the sporadic thuds of Kurt's fists against the dummy. Blaine stayed hidden as Kurt started shouting – one word for each blow.

"And. This. One's. For. Me!" he shouted, giving the dummy a particularly brutal beating, adding in a few well-measured kicks. Those legs of his were deadly, that was for sure.

He let out a low growl, snarling in anger and frustration before kicking the dummy over all together. It hit the matted floor with a crash.

Blaine's mouth was open and he could taste the sweat he hadn't bother to wipe away trickling onto his tongue, leaving a salty taste. Kurt's shorts were riding especially low…

He didn't know how to address his presence now because it seemed like Kurt was very…in the zone. The anger Blaine had felt towards Kurt's interruption of his work out had faded into a dull memory. An outburst would've been entitled the second Kurt had walked into the gym, but Blaine had hidden and now he was put in an awkward position: announce himself or continue to watch Kurt.

Well, when he put it that way, the decision was easy.

Blaine watched as Kurt dropped to the floor and began doing push ups. His chest touched the ground every single time, leaving a small patch of sweat on the gym mats. He was taking deep, measured breaths, the muscles in his arms flexing easily to account for his movements; as if he'd done this in his bedroom a thousand times before – and he probably had.

Whereas Blaine had been seeing red before Kurt came in, now he was seeing red for a completely different reason. He tried not to think dirty, invasive thoughts every time Kurt's hips neared the floor, but God,_ if only he was naked_. Blaine's breath hitched a bit at the thought because, _fuck_, Kurt must've been good in bed. He had to be.

Blaine realized at this point that the sweats he was wearing that hung just below his waist wouldn't leave much to the imagination if he kept up this train of thought.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. Kurt didn't appear to hear him as he continued with his push up regimen. Up, down, up, down – inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. He was shaking from pure effort, but he kept going, the muscles in his arms rippling as he fought against clear physical exhaustion.

Blaine cleared his throat again.

Kurt's head snapped up, his face colored from effort – surely not embarrassment – and he jumped to his feet.

"What the fuck, Blaine? I thought I had the place to myself!" he shouted. "Have you been here the whole time?" He narrowed his eyes. "You could give a little warning."

Blaine felt himself growing angry once again. His fists flexed in his pockets.

"Hey, you know this isn't your fucking personal gym," he spat back at Kurt. He didn't know why he was so upset, but he was just trying to be polite and now Kurt was throwing it in his face. If Kurt had any idea what kind of a mood Blaine was in, he wouldn't push – but he had. "Jesus fucking Christ, I don't owe you an explanation. I've got just enough right to be here as you do."

"You could've told me earlier that you'd be here," Kurt shot back. "You could've told me in class, or at lunch, or text me…or something," he complained.

"Obviously I couldn't do that," Blaine scoffed. "The first rule of - "

"Yeah, yeah, save it," Kurt interrupted him, holding up a gloved hand. He looked Blaine up and down. "Truth is, I'm looking for an easy fight and this could work out for the better…" There was an evil glint in his eyes.

"What are you trying to say?" Blaine asked in a low voice, playing coy.

"I'm saying we're both clearly upset – for reasons we won't talk about," he added when Blaine opened his mouth to ask the obvious question. "And we both want to beat the shit out of someone." He was eyeing Blaine almost hungrily, flexing his muscles in anticipation.

Blaine nodded solemnly. What he wouldn't give to have the skin of his fists to connect with someone's jaw right about now. He was teeming with pure adrenaline and frustration. Something had to give. And if that was going to be Kurt's pretty face, then so be it.

Kurt smirked at Blaine. "This will take three minutes," he goaded. "Five minutes, tops."

Blaine flared up again at being referred to as an "easy fight." He gritted his teeth and refrained from shouting expletives in Kurt's direction. What did the new kid know about fighting anyways? Fucking _nothing_, that's what.

He turned away to face the east wall of the gym which was one huge mirror. He spotted his own reflection, taking in his slightly haggard appearance.

He was well-built, he knew that. His muscles were prominent, even in a state of relative relaxation. His sweats hung on his hips, his boxer briefs peeping out from over the waistband and his hands sported streaks of dry blood. His once perfectly gelled hair was hanging in dripping wet ringlets, some in front of his eyes. He jerked his head to the left, getting them out of his way. His bare chest was shining with sweat.

He could pass as intimidating. The way he was glaring at himself in the mirror indicated as much. He was ready for this fight. He was ready to take Kurt down and take that handsome smirk off his face for good.

That was the understanding of it all: Fight one day, be friends the next. He could beat the living crap out of Kurt right now; almost leave him for dead if he felt so inclined. And the next day they would walk together from class to class. No one would ever know. They would never discuss it again. That was the way it worked.

That arrangement would work in his favor if things went his way tonight.

"Fine," he agreed. "I needed something to do before hitting the showers," he said. "I was hoping for more of a challenge - " He looked at Kurt through seemingly judgmental eyes. " – But I suppose you'll have to do," he taunted.

They closed the distance between them quickly, their feet dragging on the mats, filling the silence. Blaine bounced back and forth, taking small practice swings in the air to ready himself. Kurt stayed still, just cracking his pale knuckles and glaring at Blaine, his mouth open in concentration. His pink tongue poked out to wet his lips before he wordlessly took up his position.

They began circling each other.

When one stopped, the other stopped. When one changed their direction, so did the other. They faked one another out, lunging from one side to the other or feigning a step forward. But always, the other was on his toes and compensating for any and all movement. It was like a silent, complex dance. Their eyes never left one another's.

Blaine's gaze flickered to Kurt's lips just for a second before moving back up to his pale blue eyes. They held each other's stare for a few long moments before Blaine lunged forward for the first blow.

His fist met Kurt's side without difficulty, connecting with the exposed skin with as much force as he could pack. Kurt doubled over, but quickly recovered by ducking under Blaine's arm until they'd suddenly traded places before giving Blaine a swift kick to the gut.

Blaine's arms covered his stomach reflexively, but Kurt was already moving to attack him again. Blaine stumbled backwards as Kurt's fists met his cheek then his shoulder respectively. It stung so fucking bad, but Blaine backed up and took up his position once more.

He didn't let any of the pain show. He couldn't. That could mean the different between a win and a shameful loss.

He licked his lips and rotated his jaw around a few times, opening and closing his mouth to test if it was still intact. Once he dubbed it none the worse for wear, he took a deep breath and spat out a small amount of blood

It dotted the red floor mats, interrupting the once perfect Dalton logo emblazoned on the floor. Now it was really complete: spattered with dark traces of his blood, cutting across the sharp corners of the emblem. It was smeared across the D, glistening in the low light. Blaine chuckled to himself, wiping the blood from his mouth. D for detriment.

He flicked his hair out of his eyes as they circled each other once more.

He could see Kurt's side already purpling with a faint bruise, but he didn't hesitate as the swooped in for his second assault. He gave Kurt seven consecutive jabs to the chest, ending with a knee to his gut. Kurt groaned, but still made a quick lunge for Blaine's waist.

Blaine dodged it at the last possible second, jumping to the side as Kurt fell to the floor.

He lay there for all of one second, it seemed. Blaine had to admit, he was impressed when Kurt dragged himself up from the floor to face him again. His fingers dragged into his skin as he ran them down his jaw slowly. Blaine licked his lips, watching Kurt's every move. He kept his fists by his face, ready to go at it again.

Kurt's chest was heaving, his skin was flushed, and there was sweat dripping down his neck. Blaine's eyes followed the droplets as they ran down Kurt's throat, past his clavicle, over his chest and down through the dent between his defined pecs all the way to his navel. One stray droplet even dripped off right over his left nipple.

Blaine found himself wanting to lick it off. His eyes were trained on Kurt's chest – and Kurt knew it too. He just couldn't look away.

Kurt was studying him in the same fashion, but he kept his fists up all the same. There was brief pause in their vulture-like circling before they took a step closer.

Blaine acted as if he was going to lunge for Kurt's throat, but he ducked last second, popped up on the opposite side and took a swing for his face. His bare knuckles met soft, sweat-dampened skin and Kurt went stumbling backwards a few good paces.

He knew he had to watch the face – they weren't allowed to leave noticeable marks – but Blaine had to do that. He had to see if by making Kurt's face slightly mutilated would make it any less attractive. He was even more pissed when Kurt turned back to face him, his glove on his cheek, and there wasn't much of a mark. He was almost unscathed.

Kurt ground his teeth in Blaine's direction, infuriated by his last move and ran towards Blaine, jumping on him and pinning him to the ground beneath his knees.

Blaine didn't even get to raise his fists to block Kurt when he felt heated blows to his face, his neck, his shoulders, his chest. It lasted all of a few seconds before he shoved Kurt off of him forcefully, sending him flying into a nearby weight-lifting bench with a crash. A few hand weights nearby rolled to the floor, but Kurt ignored them as he scrambled to his feet.

Blaine wasn't even sorry about it either when he spotted his own reflection in the mirror and saw himself sporting a split lip. He felt a mixture of blood and sweat dribbling down his chin, using his arm to wipe it away.

Kurt stood up slowly to face Blaine again.

They were both breathing harshly as they stood face to face. Kurt looked like hell and Blaine knew already that he was in the same state. God, he was so _angry_. It wasn't even Kurt angering him, really. It was the _idea_ of Kurt. It was what Kurt represented. He was the physical embodiment all the people who had beaten Blaine already – fight club and prior. He was the face of every challenger and tormenter he'd ever faced and Blaine had to win. He just had to.

When Kurt was in the arena he was no longer the boy Blaine had found on the staircase. He wasn't Kurt Hummel, friend. He was no one – a grey enemy. A force that had to be dealt with swiftly and harshly.

But that furious mindset was starting to slip when Blaine stared into Kurt's blue eyes. When he saw that pale skin coloring in ways it shouldn't and started wishing that he could just be in control over Kurt – whatever that entailed.

There was only about a foot or two between them – a distance easily crossed if so desired. And, oh, Blaine was thinking about it.

He didn't have time to even consider dropping his fists because Kurt was tearing off his gloves and tossing them on the floor before closing the distance. His nails dug into Blaine's hips, forcing him backwards. Blaine's feet obeyed as he was pushed back until he violently slammed against the wall-length mirror. Kurt forced him to collide with it so hard that the shiny surface shuddered behind Blaine.

Blaine didn't have time to protest because Kurt's hands were splayed against his sides and his mouth was on Blaine's.

It was, in a word, hot. Their body heat combined was almost too much to bear; their slick chests pressed together as Kurt tugged Blaine forward by the boxer briefs. Blaine moaned and drew Kurt's upper lip into his mouth, biting down on it, hoping to repay him for the split lip.

His tongue snaked out of his mouth and he ran it across Kurt's lips before moving into his mouth, where it would presumably reside for a while if Kurt's tongue was any fraction as lithe as its owner.

It was.

His own hands were on the small of Kurt's back, grabbing his skin in fistfuls, trying to cause him some sort of pain. He'd wedged a leg between Kurt's and was pressing upwards against Kurt's crotch. He was satisfied when he felt Kurt draw in a sharp breath from the contact.

Blaine's hands moved upward into Kurt's hair. On a normal day, he wouldn't be allowed to touch it – not in a million years. But right now it was a sweaty, mussed tangle of locks. It was deliciously damp as he tugged Kurt's head back sharply.

Kurt let out a low yelp, but Blaine ignored him, licking down his chin and nipping at his jaw until he found Kurt's neck. He could taste the sweat on Kurt's throat as he began to kiss it, suck it, lick it. He used his teeth; he latched on as strong as he could until he could hear Kurt moaning.

Kurt's hands were on either side of Blaine's face before forcing Blaine's mouth back up to meet his own. Blaine bit down on Kurt's lower lip, dragging his teeth back slowly.

Blaine was still being pressed against the mirror and he could feel the surface becoming slick with their sweat. There were wet noises as Blaine's back readjusted against the mirror. Kurt's hands were on Blaine's shoulders, holding him captive as their lips met in a long, hungry kiss. As they kissed, their hips banged together, increasing the angry lust tenfold in about two seconds flat.

It was as if their battle had moved from fists to mouths. They were still competing for attention, for control. He just wanted to make Kurt hurt – _really_ hurt. He wanted to induce some kind of pain. Or maybe torture; the slow torture of pleasure. Either way, he was still in it to win, no matter how amazing Kurt's mouth felt on his or how just feeling his erection through the jersey fabric of Kurt's gym shorts thrilled him in his own southernly regions.

He shoved Kurt off of him and grabbed hold of his shoulders until he was the one slamming Kurt into the mirror. Kurt's mouth was red, already bruised from all the kissing and, Blaine had to admit, it was a good look on him. He dropped to his knees, taking Kurt's shorts with him.

And, oh my, Kurt was attractive all over. Blaine kissed down from his navel, across his hip bones, down the junction of his legs and bit his thighs until they colored beneath his lips. He was definitely winning now.

He took a unmistakable lead as he bit down onto Kurt's cock and licked upwards, swirling his tongue around the tip. He felt Kurt's knees shaking as he took him into his mouth – just an inch. He sucked eagerly, gripping Kurt's thighs in order to measure Kurt's state of mind. They twitched beneath his fingers as he took Kurt an inch deeper.

He retreated after another inch, sitting back on his heels and licking Kurt from base to tip, long, drawn out trails. He flattened his tongue and wet the entire surface of Kurt's erection to make it easier on himself. When Kurt was groaning above him just from that, Blaine resumed his prior actions and took Kurt into his mouth without hesitation.

He tasted so good – kind of bitter mixed in with sweat and an unnamed scent – better than Blaine had imagined. He took him as deep as he dared before hollowing out his cheeks and returning the same way he came, popping his lips off Kurt's cock with a small, wet noise.

Oh yes, he was winning here.

He repeated the process over and over again; being deliberately slow as to give pleasure, but not enough to give release. His jaw was starting to hurt a little bit, but it was a good hurt. It was worth it to have Kurt shuddering beneath his lips. Maybe if he was lucky it would still hurt tomorrow so that he would know for sure this wasn't just a dream.

Blaine released Kurt's cock from his mouth and sat back, pulling Kurt's shorts back up over his straining hard-on. He smirked as he walked towards the locker room, which was thankfully just through a nearby door. He didn't even bother telling Kurt to follow him, because he knew he would.

Sure enough, Kurt was on his heels as he walked to his locker. He teased Kurt by taking an unnecessarily long time there. He pretended to forget his combo three times, he paused to take a swig of water, he refolded some of his already neat clothes, and dried some of the sweat from his face with a towel before heading towards the showers.

Kurt was out of his shorts before they even entered a stall – Blaine smirked at his naked state. He couldn't let Kurt know that while he was naked,_ he_ was the one who had the advantage. He wanted to be in charge. He wanted to have the upper hand. And the only way to maintain it was to make Kurt think he was indifferent to his body. He hoped the bulge in his sweats wouldn't give him away.

He'd barely turned on the water when Kurt shoved in him into the stall, under the freezing jet of water – pants still on and all. Blaine felt his back pressing against the cool tile walls. The ice cold tile stung in opposition to his worn out skin. His back was scarred and bruised from all the fighting and his wounds protested the drop in temperature.

Still, he couldn't find the will to protest as Kurt's mouth slid across his neck, sucking on his pressure points and Adam's apple before making its way up to his ear and nibbling the lobe. Blaine let out a shaky sigh, clutching Kurt to him reflexively.

Kurt bent down and kissed down Blaine's neck, down across his chest until he reached a peaked nipple – peaked from a combination of the extreme cold and the feel of Kurt's lips on his skin that didn't normally get kissed. He took it into his mouth and ran his tongue over it, sucking and biting until Blaine was gyrating his hips against Kurt's. Then Kurt moved to the other side and repeated his process until Blaine was rock hard.

His sweats were completely soaked and practically falling off of him anyways, so Blaine hooked his thumbs underneath the fabric and shook them off, kicking them out of the stall where they landed with a wet thud on the shower room floor.

The water was turning warm quickly as Kurt's mouth collided with Blaine's once more. They released all their frustrations on one another's lips – both sexual and otherwise. It hurt so good; the velocity at which their lips were moving was impressive and their mouths were wet and anxious against one another's. Blaine framed Kurt's face with his hands, pulling him closer as their kiss took a turn for the dirty.

Kurt's hand had wandered down below Blaine's waist and was now grabbing his slick cock and running his fingers across the tip. Blaine moaned into Kurt's mouth; Kurt's mouth that was latched onto his and using his teeth and tongue for all they were worth. He gripped Blaine's erection firmly before starting a quick, even rhythm – just building him up.

Blaine pressed his hips into Kurt's fist, growing slowly but surely more and more frustrated. He was so pent up and every time Kurt got him going - hitting a certain spot in just the right way or picking up the pace enough for Blaine to finish - he would back down and start all over again. It was enough to make Blaine feel like he was losing his _mind_.

Steam was emanating from their shower stall now, but Blaine didn't care – he didn't pay Dalton's water bill. The water burned deliciously on his back as Kurt continued jerking him off, they speed of their lips matching that of his hand. Then he let go and he removed his lips altogether. He stared down the bridge of his nose as Blaine's lips as if to gesture that the next move was Blaine's.

Blaine knew the game well. He knew how it worked in the arena and he knew how it worked here. Strategy, he told himself. It was all about strategy. He had to hit Kurt and he had to hit him hard; take him out if possible. It was hard to keep his mind in fight-mode with Kurt's naked torso in front of him, but he managed; with great diffculty, he managed. He flipped Kurt around until he was facing the shower wall, pressing him into it as he knelt down.

The stream of water was hitting Kurt's back, conveniently letting all the water trickle down his backside. Blaine licked his way downwards, sometimes lapping up the water, sometimes not. Everything was hot and slick, just the way he liked it. He grabbed Kurt's cock in his left hand, squeezing the base teasingly as his mouth continued its downwards trek.

With the help of his free hand, he found the spot he was looking for and set his tongue to it. Kurt let out a yelp before hissing as Blaine licked his entrance with absolutely no mercy. He traced the outline with his tongue and with his fingertip. He didn't want to make things any easier for Kurt, so he just made sure everything was nice and wet before proceeding with his finger. He lubricated it only with his own spit and a bit of shampoo before teasing Kurt with it.

Kurt moaned into the shower wall. It echoed throughout the room and Blaine thought it might just have the potential to be his new favorite sound. He inserted his tongue first, wetting the area. He dipped in and out, just barely for a while before using his tongue to go deeper, and then deeper still. Kurt was pressing himself into the wall now, he was so far gone.

Blaine slowly inserted one slick finger. He extricated it just as suddenly as it'd been there before reinserting it with renewed fervor. Kurt hissed only once, but soon made no sounds of protest as Blaine developed a rhythm. He kept his mouth to Kurt's entrance as his finger penetrated it inch by torturous inch – torturous for whom, he couldn't say.

So went the slow process of preparing Kurt for the real course of action. By the time Blaine had three fingers comfortably fit inside Kurt, he was positive that he was going to die from sexual overload before having his say. Luckily, Kurt was all but begging him for more. He was pleading with both his words and his body.

Well this was new. This was going to be the first time Blaine fucked his way to victory. But, hey, there was always a first time for everything, right?

He lined himself up with Kurt – oh he was nice and hard from all the noises Kurt had been making all the while – before slowly removing his fingers only to immediately replace them with himself. He did shove it in a little more than was wise, but then again he _did_ want Kurt to feel pain.

He wanted to fuck Kurt so hard that he'd be limping for a week. He wanted to hurt him so badly that he wouldn't fight for the same duration of time, claiming some other excuse, but he and Blaine would look at each other and know the truth of his injury. He wanted Kurt to remember that this wasn't for pleasure – well, maybe it was, but he didn't have to _know_ it – but was an act of dominance.

He gave Kurt only a few moments before moving deeper. God, it felt so good, being buried in Kurt's tight ass. How would he ever be able to duke it out with Kurt again when from this moment forth whenever he saw Kurt, all he'd associate him with was his fucking perfect ass? He withdrew and inch only to enter two more. Kurt let out a yell, but there was no one nearby to overhear them.

Kurt reached behind him and gripped Blaine's ass, molding it in his hands and just holding him to himself. Blaine obliged for a second, just holding his position before inching forward again. Kurt's hands dropped from Blaine's backside to splay against the wall. His head was hanging and Blaine could see he was fighting to take even breaths.

Blaine held still for a minute or two before withdrawing almost completely and slamming back in without warning. Kurt's breathing stuttered and his knuckles were turning white against the walls, but he didn't tell Blaine to stop. In fact, he moaned.

Blaine gripped Kurt's waist, using his mouth as he leaned forward and bit Kurt's opposite shoulder. He let his lips work on Kurt's shoulder and back as he moved his hips back, then forward again with more enthusiasm. Only, fuck, it felt so good and he wanted more.

Kurt whined and pressed his forehead into the shower wall, steam pouring out around him and going over the stall wall. His fist met the wall with a sickening crack as Blaine moved again. He was practically begging for Blaine to do as he wished and Blaine would very happily oblige.

He kept his eyes fixed on the bruise he'd given Kurt in their fight as he began to find his rhythm. He moved faster and faster, encouraged by the slick water running down their conjoined bodies. He found quickly that if he angled his hips right and if he thrust hard enough, it would make Kurt go to pieces.

"_Fuck_," Kurt hissed as Blaine did it for the fourth time.

Blaine smirked. If Kurt wanted to be fucked then who was he to protest? He grabbed Kurt's hips and slammed into him with all his force. Kurt cried out and pounded the wall with his fists again as Blaine continued. He kept his thrusts quick and short. He didn't even bother reaching around Kurt to help him by jerking him off. No - when Kurt came, Blaine wanted it to be purely because of what was in his ass: Blaine.

His thighs were hurting from clenching and fucking Kurt senseless. Kurt was rocking back into him and just whining incoherent strings of syllables. Some sounded like the beginnings of curse words or Blaine's name, but they all just ended in a jumble of elated moans. He was pressing back into Blaine as far as he could go.

Blaine thrust deeper, taking Kurt all the way in until his ass was touching Blaine's stomach and then pulled almost all the way out. He rammed back into Kurt just as deeply, this time tipping his hips upwards and Kurt sounded like he was almost sobbing from how it felt. Everything was damp and slick and the traction was so fucking good as Blaine continued his practically feral pace.

The steam and the effort were making him sweat but he put his all into it. He rode Kurt for all he was worth, ignoring everything but his own pleasure. Kurt was bucking backwards as Blaine gave one last, powerful thrust and flex of his hips then Kurt was coming. Blaine could see the clear, sticky substance jetting out of Kurt's cock and sliding down the wall to pool onto the floor before getting whisked away into the drain.

He kept coming for about a minute straight, pauses between quick jets of come. A sticky length was dripping off of Kurt's cock and attached to the shower wall. Blaine swiped his thumb over it, breaking the connection before putting it in his mouth and swallowing the glob.

He still held onto Kurt's hips as he continued his rhythm. Even though Kurt was finished and surely raw – probably painfully so – Blaine didn't let up. He didn't back down because, goddamnit, he was going to finish fucking Kurt until he was completely done.

Kurt's shoulders were tense as Blaine continued taking him and he whined every time Blaine pulled back before slamming into him with more force than before. It had to hurt, Blaine knew that, but Kurt wasn't saying anything and he was so, _so_ close.

It didn't take much - Kurt was still clenching and throbbing around him and his pace could've gotten him off alone – until Blaine was coming inside Kurt, causing the other boy to yell out again; this time from pain. Blaine's mouth went slack jaw as he pushed the entirety of his come into Kurt. He clenched and felt it shooting out, surrounding his own cock. He pushed Kurt off of him when he was finished, admiring the slight gape to Kurt's ass, and stood underneath the running water for a second.

They both looked at one another, chests heaving and dripping with water.

"Who won?" Blaine asked with a smirk.

Kurt thought about it. "How about we call it a tie?" he decided.

"I won't tell anyone if you won't," Blaine promised.

"The first rule of - "

"Yeah, yeah," Blaine cut in, imitating Kurt from earlier. "Save it."

* * *

><p>Blaine shook hands with his history professor, giving him a comment of gratitude and the old Anderson charm with a dashing smile before turning down the hall.<p>

Some of the students in the hallways gave him an affirmative nod. Word was already out that he'd won a fight the night before - though no one knew the gruesome details. His uniform hid most of the damage, but he'd cleaned up his hands well enough to hide it. He was the spitting image of the perfect, prestigious schoolboy, just trying to make his way into the Ivy Leagues.

Wes came to his side, already rambling on and on about new numbers that needed working on and would Blaine consider a solo that was a medley or not? He was joined by a few other Warblers who were all talking at once as they continued down the hallways. Blaine nodded and commented in all the right places, never missing a beat.

Kurt came walking down the hallway in the opposite direction. His eyes were kept straight ahead, but Blaine noted as they passed – and the arms of their blazers brushed – Kurt's eyes flickered to him for a second, along with a knowing glimmer in those blue irises. Blaine let his eyes follow Kurt down the hall for a millisecond before turning back to Wes. No one had even noticed the interaction.

He smirked as he flexed his fingers, popping a few of the knuckles.

No one knew.

No one would ever know.

That was the rule.

* * *

><p><em>AN: So that happened..._

_I know everyone's written a fic about Blaine's Dalton Fight Club slip - I've seen the crossovers, the headcanons, etc etc - and I really didn't have any plans to write anything like that. But then I was on a long drive with my family and we were stuck in traffic so I was texting one of my best friends, Mia, and I swear, half of that is a direct transcript from my phone. So I just finished it and I kind of love it. I hope you guys did too (:_

_**Tell me your thoughts and review!**  
><em>


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